First Impressions
by Working-On-Sanity
Summary: Marshall Lee has never made a good first impression on anyone. Gumball has always made a good first impression on everyone. Grudgingly, Marshall asks Gumball for advice. He soon learns that, no matter how persistently Gumball denies it, there is one certain person whom Marshall impressed. Slight PGxML.


**Note: **Ehh, I really like MLxPG. It's a cute pairing, but somehow, even though it's kind of the same thing as Bubbleline, I think Bubbleline's a bit cuter. Haha. Anyway, this one-shot is pretty much one long drabble. I'm trying to get used to writing the characters.

* * *

"Gumball. Hey, Gumball!"

The urgent voice cracked slightly in the crisp morning air as it rose faintly up to the highest window of the castle. The sun began to glow over the peaked towers, outlining them in blinding red. Marshall Lee shaded his eyes against the glare, squinting angrily.

"Gumball!" he said again, his eyes darkening.

A moment later, a sleepy pink head appeared in the window. The entire side of Gumball's hair had been mashed from his resting on a pillow. Even his crown was tipped precariously on his head, as if Gumball had hurried to put it on before allowing himself to be seen. Marshall resisted the overpowering urge to laugh.

"What's wrong, Gumwad? You look like you're tired!"

Gumball rubbed his curled fingers lightly over his clouded eyes. He blinked blearily until he saw Marshall as more than a hazy blur, but the instant Marshall came into clear view, Gumball regretted it. Marshall's tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth as he grinned.

"May I help you?" Gumball said, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"Ooh," Marshall said wickedly. "_Somebody _got up on the wrong side of his bed, didn't he?"

Gumball blew a soft sigh up his forehead, willing himself to respond calmly. He dropped his hands to the windowsill and leaned out.

"Marshall," he said, "do you need something?"

Marshall pressed the toe of his sneaker against the ground and pushed himself into the air. The momentum allowed him to float effortlessly to Gumball's window. When he could stare directly into Gumball's face, he leaned to one side, crossed his ankles, and propped his chin on his fist. He looked as though he were lounging on an invisible sofa.

"Gumball," said Marshall, "do you have any experience with introductions?"

Of all questions that could have been asked, Gumball perhaps expected this one least. He took a step back and paused.

"What sort of introductions?"

Marshall's eyebrows lowered until he looked most threatening. "What'd'ya mean, 'what sort'? _Introductions. _Like, you meet somebody and you tell 'em who you are."

"Well..." Gumball stroked the side of his forefinger along his jaw thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I should be rather experienced. I've never considered it, though. I _have_ introduced myself to many people."

"Yeah, yeah," Marshall said. He flipped his hand in an impatient gesture. "Will you just tell me how?"

"How what?"

"Wow, Princey. You sure didn't ascend to the throne because of your brains, did you?" Marshall tried to make his tone joking, but Gumball saw the angry white flash of his fangs.

He swallowed and helped himself to another generous step backwards. He knew Marshall would never bite him, but Gumball disliked the sight of his pointed teeth. Whenever he caught himself staring, his neck would tingle, and he would instinctively reach up to cup a protective hand over the ache. Marshall's attention would then always be drawn to Gumball's neck, evoking a more uncomfortable reaction from the both of them.

"Uh," Gumball said intelligently. He turned his head to peer over his shoulder, then quickly scooted closer to Marshall. When he spoke, he lowered his voice.

"Be more quiet, would you?" he said. He motioned for Marshall to float closer. Gumball peeked behind himself again, and stretched forward to whisper quickly against Marshall's ear.

"This... this isn't about Fionna, is it?" he said. "You're acting strange, and I know something's bothering you. Normal people don't randomly ask for a crash course in introductions."

Marshall irately tipped his head away from Gumball. "Gee, are you gonna help me, or not? And why is it any of your business whether it's about Fionna?"

A noise clattered from the hall outside Gumball's bedroom. The servants were beginning to awaken. Gumball snapped out his hand to grab Marshall's shoulder and tugged him nearer.

"All right, all right," Gumball said, relenting. "You want to finally make a good impression on someone, don't you?"

"Bleh..." Marshall's tongue flopped out the side of his mouth as he contemplated. "Of course I do."

"Okay. The key to making good first impressions is being presentable." Gumball spoke quickly, hurrying to get the words fixed into Marshall's mind before the servants came to fetch Gumball for breakfast.

"Presentable, huh."

Gumball placed his hands on Marshall's skinny shoulders, shaking him gently. "Listen! People trust other people when the other people look like they are people who can be trusted."

Marshall appeared dazed.

"People who wear suits look like they're in charge. Presidents wear suits. Managers wear suits. Men who are getting married wear suits. Those guys demand respect. You don't see any of them parading around in old ragged clothes with an axe-bass slung over their shoulder. If you want to make a really good impression on someone, wear a suit."

Marshall gazed down. His faded flannel shirt hung loosely from his thin frame, and his jeans were worn and tattered. Had Gumball implied that his attire did not "demand respect?" Personally Marshall thought his being a vampire demanded respect to spare.

"You sure about this?" Marshall said. He plucked at the collar of his plaid blouse. "I thought you'd give me something a little more... practical."

"A suit isn't practical?"

"If you don't have one, it's not."

"Dear me," Gumball said, appalled. He frowned and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, scrunching his face into a most pensive expression. Finally, he nodded, and his bangs slipped over his forehead.

"I may have something you can borrow, though I really don't approve of whatever scheme you're contriving." He abruptly swung away toward his closet. Unsure of whether to follow or remain in place, Marshall folded his arms over the window ledge and rested his cheek against his wrists. He watched Gumball flurry around, and a slight smile tipped his mouth. Marshall always enjoyed prodding Gumball into being flustered.

"Here we are," Gumball said triumphantly. He jerked a bulky garment from its hanger. It had been crumpled into the farthest corner of the closet, quite obviously an outfit that Gumball never wore. Marshall thought Gumball was merely joking until Gumball fumbled to unpin the sleeves. They fell gracefully, the pink satin shimmering in the faint light.

Marshall stared blankly. "You're kidding. Right?"

"Kidding?" Gumball said. He walked to Marshall and extended the hand clutching the ridiculous pink outfit. "Certainly not. This is a suit I've been saving for a special occasion, but if you need it, you may use it."

"I'll throw up."

Gumball hugged the suit against his chest. "Don't you dare."

Hesitantly, Marshall floated through the window. His every movement was cautious as he floated in a circle around Gumball, as if he were about to attack something more dangerous than he and was not certain if he could emerge the victor.

Gumball held up the suit enticingly. Its collar was high, and a row of shiny silver buttons marched up and down its front. Its sleeves were large and puffed, and, all in all, the suit looked extremely _pink._

"That's a sissy outfit," Marshall said decisively.

"It's one of mine," said Gumball, hurt.

"Oh, is it? Let me restate that. It's a _super _sissy outfit. You wouldn't catch me dead wearing that thing. I'd look like a blob of pink. A smear of bubblegum. A pink booger. I'd look... like _you._"

A shudder sailed up Marshall's back and made his shoulders twitch. Gumball glared, offended by Marshall's barrage of insults.

"Fine, then," he said, moving to return the suit to the closet. "Go meet whoever-it-is and look like you scraped yourself off the side of an old trash-bin. But don't blame me if you don't make that perfect first impression you want."

Marshall sighed, ducking his head. He convinced himself to float alongside Gumball, and rolled onto his back in mid-air. He reminded Gumball of an apologetic dog.

"Hey," Marshall said, crossing his arms behind his neck. He drifted beside Gumball, keeping close to him. Gumball hung the suit on its rack before acknowledging Marshall.

"What is it now?"

Marshall grinned hopefully, his fangs pressing against his bottom lip to leave slight dents in the skin. "Don't get so huffy, Princey. You knew I wouldn't wear a ruffly curtain like that. And you know," he said softly, "I don't think it would've worked, anyway."

"Are you saying my suggestions are worthless?"

"Now you're just showing off a bad attitude," Marshall said in reproof. He held up his forefinger, requesting silence. "You can wear your prissy clothes, but they aren't the things that make everyone go crazy over you. The Candy People are like... nuts over you, man. You could wear _my _clothes and they'd still drool at your feet. There's just something that some guys are born with, I guess, that makes 'em easy to respect and like."

Gumball cupped his elbows, squeezing his forearms against his chest. "Don't make excuses for yourself. If you acted like a king, people would respect you, too. And you can't really feel like royalty until you wear the stiff, expensive clothes to remind you of that."

Marshall waved away the subtle hint. "Nah. That stuff ain't for me. You can keep your frilly clothes, and I can tell you where to shove 'em, too."

Gumball looked at Marshall in disgust.

"Really, though," Marshall said hastily, "it's not important. I guess this royalty junk isn't for me. It's a load of stupid, anyway."

Gumball tilted his head, closing one eye to squint at Marshall. Finally, he raised his hand, pinching his thumb and forefinger together as if measuring Marshall.

"What are you doing, Dumball?"

Gumball let his arm fall against his side, and his eyes dimmed with amusement. "Marshall, you'll never fail to make me laugh with your inability to admit you aren't capable of something."

Immediately Marshall sat upright, balancing in the air. His eyes widened and grew dark with indignation. "Are you saying I'm not capable of being a king?"

"My, my," Gumball said, pressing his fingers to his lips innocently. "Is that what you inferred?"

"Shut up." Marshall huffed, blowing away the long strands of hair that had fallen over his nose. He scowled. "You aren't so great, either."

Gumball smiled a knowing smile that Marshall hated. "Did you not just tell me what a good ruler I am, and that all Candy People adore me?"

"Ugh!" Marshall curled his fingers into his hair and wildly ruffled the messy mop in sheer frustration. "Okay, you know what? I shouldn't have even come to you for help. Here I was, psyching myself up to ask _you, _when I could've gone to someone else. Anyone else would be a bigger help than you!"

"Marshall, stop."

At the quiet, imploring words, Marshall reluctantly fell silent. He sulkily refused to look directly at Gumball, even when Gumball stepped closer and reached out to rest his hand on Marshall's bent knee.

"I won't ask anymore about whom you're trying to impress by fancy introductions. Do you realize that you'd eventually crush that person?"

"Huh?" In spite of himself, Marshall turned to Gumball. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gumball smoothed the pad of his thumb over the seam of Marshall's jeans as he thought. "It means," he said at last, "that you can't trick other people by putting up false fronts. It's easy to pretend you're better than what you are, but not for long. Sooner or later, the one you're trying to impress will figure you out. I'd like to see how long you can go being mannerly and considerate while wearing a tuxedo."

"That doesn't sound like fun."

Gumball shrugged. "It wouldn't be. And, hey," he said, jostling Marshall a bit until he had Marshall's full attention. "Look, Marsh. If that certain person won't have anything to do with you unless you change, you shouldn't even express interest in her. It will cause problems for you later––I've learned that much."

"You've learned it?" Marshall said. "Since when has someone _not _shown interest in you?"

Gumball laughed softly, his cheeks turning warm. "There's been a few times. It sounds greedy, but really, when you grow up getting whatever you want, it's hard to understand that there are still some things you just can't have." He paused awkwardly, then cleared his throat with a curt cough. He patted Marshall's knee encouragingly.

"Now," he said, his voice still slightly husky, "I've told you all I can. It's up to you whether you want to play tricks on some poor girl, but I'd advise you not to."

His task finished, Gumball strode toward the bureau and began opening drawers. He gathered his blouse and slacks, each neatly folded into perfect flat squares that were entirely void of wrinkles. Tucking the clothes beneath his arm, Gumball stood up and shut the drawer with the side of his foot.

"The servants will call me down to breakfast in ten minutes," he said. He leaned down to peer at his reflection in the mirror. Frowning, he licked his thumb and slid it over his hair, smoothing down an unruly gooey cowlick. Now satisfied, he adjusted the mirror until he could see Marshall.

"You're welcome to join us," Gumball said slowly, despite knowing his servants would be upset by Marshall's presence. They all grudgingly accepted Marshall, but were never enthusiastic about his frequent visits. The Candy People enjoyed their daily routines, and could not readily become accustomed to something that disrupted those routines.

Marshall gave an unmannerly snort. "Yeah, I'd be welcome, all right. About as welcome as a tapeworm in some guy's gut."

"Must you always be so disgusting?"

"Oops. Didn't mean to make you sick... _Princess._"

Gumball rolled his eyes. "Thank you," he said in a parody of politeness. "I'll be back as soon as I dress."

"Wait a second!"

Gumball paused, and Marshall swung through the air until he bobbed up and down in front of Gumball. He looked somewhat sheepish, and he scratched his cheek to hide his embarrassment.

"Hey... um..." He rubbed the back of his neck now, realizing he could not word his question exactly as he wished. He at last decided to simply say, "Do you remember the first time we met?"

"When we first met, huh." Gumball pondered this question, vaguely wondering what Marshall would ask next. "It was a long time ago."

"You're eighteen, man."

"It feels like a long time," Gumball said in protest. "Anyway, I don't remember much. Just that you were always around a lot. A whole lot."

"I'm not talking about stuff like that," Marshall said witheringly. "I mean, what did you think of me?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"_Yes._"

"Okay. I don't remember where we were when we met, but I do remember it being a cloudy day. I was afraid it was going to rain, and you know how I feel about being outdoors in the middle of a rainstorm. I was holding my parasol, and when I looked up––there you were. I was little, so I remember that you seemed really tall. And terribly thin."

Gumball squeezed his eyes shut now, focusing entirely on the memory. Marshall listened intently.

"You had a strange look on your face, now that I think about it. I remember just staring at you, knowing that you weren't a Candy Person, trying to figure out what it is you were. I had never seen a Vampire before, mind you. I was––" Gumball stopped, not wanting to admit that Marshall had frightened him. He searched his mind for a suitable word to describe the effect Marshall had had on him.

"You were a bit intimidating," he finished.

Marshall gazed distantly somewhere past Gumball's ear. He sighed. "So... I left a bad first impression on you, then?"

"I didn't exactly say _that._" Gumball winced. "I, well... I wanted to get to know you better. Maybe it was just that feeling all children have. They want to see how close they can get to bad company."

Marshall narrowed his eyes into slits.

"But that feeling hasn't gone away," Gumball said, hoping to appease Marshall. Then he glanced at the clock and found that he had five minutes before breakfast. In an effort to end the prolonged conversation, he said, "You're my friend, Marshall, and that's what matters to me. I don't care what you look like or what you wear, really. No matter what you do, we'll still be friends. Even though you annoy me to death sometimes."

"Well... well... aw." Marshall could think of nothing else to say. He hated sentimental moments, even when the sentiment was largely rushed.

Gumball must have interpreted Marshall's silence as his being unconvinced. With a fleeting glance behind him to make sure no one was spying, Gumball took a few steps forward and wrapped his strong arm around Marshall's neck. Marshall's skin was cold and oddly soft, and Gumball thought hugging him felt akin to hugging a corpse.

He pulled back, his elbow still bent around Marshall's shoulders, and smiled.

"Don't feel bad, okay?" he said. "And don't try changing for other people, either, no matter how badly you want to impress them. You're Marshall Lee, and that should be enough."

Marshall laughed and shoved Gumball's arm away. "It's great to hear you say that, Gumwad. That makes me feel just an iota better. But maybe you should try reminding yourself of that sermon next time I drop by."

All at once, Gumball realized what Marshall had been cleverly doing––provoking him into saying such kind words! "Dear, dear me," Gumball said, furling his fingers against his chin in distress. Marshall cackled hysterically as he lazily floated past Gumball and out the open window.


End file.
